Sleepless
by goforsodapop
Summary: Darry's parents have been dead for a little over a week, and he can't find it in himself to sleep. Caught between the decision to go to school, or look after his brothers, he spends another sleepless night pacing the house.


Chuck Berry was on the radio. For once, Darry didn't want to listen. That ancient little radio, huddling on top of the piano, offered the only quiet noise in the Curtis house that night. But when Darry pushed away from the kitchen table and switched it off, silence fell.

For a moment, Darry just stood there, staring at it. His jaw flexed. Then he reached up and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He hadn't slept in days.

How long could a person go without sleep? A week? A few days more? You'd think insomnia would have been his initial reaction to his parents' deaths. But surprisingly, the sleepless nights hadn't started until after the funeral.

That was four days ago. Four days and Darrel Curtis hadn't known a second's worth of sleep. Ponyboy was having nightmares, Sodapop was trying to pretend he wasn't as broken up as he was, and Darrel was the frail glue holding it all together. If he didn't get some sleep soon, he wouldn't be holding anything together anymore.

Sighing, Darry glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just past two in the morning. Then he turned around, facing the kitchen table, where a mountain's worth of paperwork was scattered. Earlier that day, the exhaustion had been so bad that Darry thought he might get some shut-eye after all. But when he rummaged around in the hall closet, and found that box filled with papers, he knew he was wrong.

He hadn't really been looking for it. Their parents had only died just over a week ago. Their father's hat still hung on its hook by the front door and their mother's makeup was still in the bathroom. None of the boys touched their parents' things; they didn't dare move them, give them away, throw them out. Not yet.

Sodapop seemed to have made good use of their dad's old flannel shirts. But that was about it.

It had been a frosty morning. Darry was just looking for a thicker pair of gloves when he nudged the box, and its contents spilled on the floor. He'd bent down, cursing under his breath as he stuffed piles of papers back inside. Only when he noticed his name on a few, along with his brothers', did he actually stop.

Inside of that box was nearly every important piece of paper their parents had. Birth certificates, doctor's notes, school report cards – even graduation certificates from kindergarten. There were stacks of old bills, faded blueprints of the house, papers about the truck, old receipts which Darry had no clue if he should keep or not.

Now, the papers were spread out, covering nearly every inch of the kitchen table. They looked so harmless, so benign, and yet Darry could feel them pressing against his skull in a vice grip, giving him a headache.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he walked back to his chair and sank down in it. He scowled at the papers. Sure, some of them were useless now – he didn't really need to keep Pony's grade two report card, or the doctor's note from when Sodapop broke his arm and had to miss school. It was all the other papers that were worrying him: papers about money and the house and legal things he hadn't even thought about before. Things he wasn't even sure he wanted to start thinking about now.

Hiding beneath that derelict pile of papers, were two separate and neat stacks. One contained an acceptance letter to the University of Tulsa, along with the details of Darry's football scholarship. The other stack was an intimidating group of papers, outlining the details of a boys' home just outside the city, where Sodapop and Ponyboy would be going once Darry went off to school.

Up until that night, Darry really had been torn. He was in no position to run a household. Sure, he could fix the truck if anything went wrong with it, and he was handy enough with tools to repair just about anything around the house. But what about money? Could he afford to feed his brothers, let alone himself? Could he manage to keep them out of trouble? What would he do if Sodapop got into trouble, or Ponyboy? He was used to being the tough big brother. Not the stern parent. He wouldn't be any good at it.

The boys would be better off in a home. For a while, Darry tried so hard to swallow that lie. But it never quite worked – it got stuck in and around his teeth, aching at his temples and making his jaw sore. He knew it wasn't true. Family had to stay together.

Maybe looking after his brothers wouldn't be so bad. Shoot, it could be just like school – he'd always be learning, that's for sure. Except with this, everything would be a test and his mistakes would matter more. But Darry had never been one to back down from a challenge.

This, really, was why Darry knew he wouldn't be sleeping. Because he had suddenly realized he'd made up his mind, and it terrified him. Soda and Pony going to a boy's home had never been a possibility. Darry had just been putting off admitting it. Subconsciously, he'd still been holding out with an aching hope that his parents would walk back in the door before he had to.

The funeral had been days ago. And what with Pony's nightmares and Soda talking about dropping out, Darry knew he couldn't hide from it any longer. His parents were gone. He had to step up.

Darry grabbed the intimidating stack of papers; the one about handing Ponyboy and Soda over to a boy's home. Then he grabbed the papers from the University. Pressing his lips together, mustering his courage, he tossed them into the wastebasket across the room.

Darry let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Despite the other papers still scattered on the table, the pressure seemed to lift from his mind. In its wake, all he felt was exhaustion.

With bleary eyes, Darry found a scrap piece of paper and a pen. On it, he scribbled a messy to-do list. Graduation was in a few months, but in the meantime, he needed to find a job. Maybe two. The truck needed new tires. The bathroom sink was leaking. He needed to make an appointment for Ponyboy – the kid's nightmares were getting worse. And he needed to talk to Sodapop about school.

Yes, these were all things Darry needed to do. But as the clock chimed three o'clock, he knew there was nothing more that could be done that night. So he stood up and flicked off the kitchen light, before retreating to his bedroom to finally see a few hours' worth of sleep.


End file.
